


hunger has no friend

by sylvanWhispers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belts, Captivity, Domestic Violence, Exhibitionism, Figging, Forced Feminization, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvanWhispers/pseuds/sylvanWhispers
Summary: Everyone has a hunger, and Ramsay's the expert at exploiting it.(For the 2020 Thramsay Secret Satan)
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 65
Collections: Thramsay Secret Satan 2020





	hunger has no friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkandstormyslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/gifts).



> Happy Holidays everybody. I fear this is not as polished as my usual work, I cut down on word count to keep this from somehow becoming a multi-chap monstrosity, so I can't help but feel disconcerted by the pacing. But ah well. I will likely give it a more thorough revision soon; right now my eyes are skimming over words pretty uselessly.
> 
> The title comes from the quote, "Hunger has no friend but its feeder," by Aristophanes.

The first time Theon saw a dead body, he had only gotten up for a glass of water.

He had woken up to a cold and empty bed, which wasn’t all that strange. Ramsay kept odd hours. He came and went at will and with little explanation. Errands for his father or outings with the Boys, usually. After six months together, Theon had learned not to pry.

It was by far the longest running relationship Theon had ever managed, even though Ramsay Snow had hardly been his first choice. Such a quiet guy, prone to secretive little smiles and not blinking as much as a person should. Theon had been vaguely aware of him back in school despite the two years between them, but that had only been because of Robb. The Starks seemed born with an ingrained catalog of all the local families and their accompanying drama. Not that any of that was Theon’s business.

The relationship had started out innocently enough: a shitty low-lit bar, a faintly familiar pair of grey eyes. A free round of drinks whilst Theon bitched and moaned about Robb ending their lease to get a place with that girl of is (suddenly all the prompting to pick up a trade or go back to school made sense, but how was Theon supposed to know they’d gotten that serious?). In hindsight, “it’s either her or me” might have been a little dramatic, but _still_.

“There’s room at my place,” Ramsay had said, so offhand and casual. “I have friends coming and going all the time. It’s nothing.”

Ramsay was a little more bossy than Robb, but definitely less uptight. Drinks after work, video games on the weekends, weed on Fridays… eventually ‘flatmates’ led to ‘bent for rent’ which led to ‘friends with benefits’ and, at that point, where was the line between a mate you were fucking and the next step up from that?

Six months later, and the difference turned out to be quite substantial indeed.

Theon padded down the stairs on socked feet, feeling his way through the dark. Eventually he stumbled his way into the kitchenette. He was using the light of the fridge to find a glass when he felt a heavy thud reverberate through the floor.

He paused. 

Rooming with Ramsay in the wooded outskirts of the city took adjusting to. It was a large, old estate. Sometimes the house made strange noises, sounds Theon wasn’t used to after years living in a city apartment. Ramsay’s dominion was a structure adjacent to the main building and overlooking the stables. It had probably once been a carriage house or staff housing, renovated into a little flat of its own over the years. Housekeeping never strayed there.

It was near kennels that housed Ramsay’s dogs, huge beasts that were known to jostle in the night. Sometimes Ramsay had his friends down in the cellar too, for poker games and the like. Theon had been told in no uncertain terms to stay upstairs and give them their space on those nights.

He still found himself drifting towards the door that led to the lower stairwell. If the dogs were acting up, Theon was obligated to check on them. At least to make sure they weren’t going at each other.

The steps creaked and groaned under his cautious feet. More sounds began to filter through the soundproofing of the lower level - namely the muffled barking of dogs, more excited than alarmed. Gods, maybe another rat had slipped in?

Theon grimaced, remembering the hour he’d spent on bruised knees, scrubbing and hosing blood from the kennel tile. He reached the shadowed landing and spied the beam of light shining in from under the cellar door. Muted voices and laughter carried through, with movements inside occasionally breaking the thin stream of light. So Ramsay was home after all?

Theon nearly went straight back upstairs. He wasn’t allowed in the cellar. That was Ramsay’s space. This was Ramsay’s _house_. He should-

Even through the heavy cellar door and several layers of insulation, the smothered scream that rang through the air was unmistakable. A surge of panic had Theon grasping the handle, door pushing open without resistance.

White noise filled his ears. The first thing he saw was the vivid red pooling across the floor and glistening beneath harsh fluorescent lights. The room smelled of iron and piss and bile. The air was cold, damp and laced with cigarette smoke.

At the center of it all was the crumpled heap of what once was a man, limp at Damon’s feet. His knuckles were dripping with blood, and a glimpse at the bruised, swollen mess of his victim’s face made it easy to connect the dots.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, dear?”

Theon flinched with his whole body. He hadn’t noticed Ramsay leaning against a worktable, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and shirt front speckled with stray blood spatter. He wasn’t alone, a few of the other boys were lounging around the room, smoking and watching the scene unfold.

“Whu- I-“ He could barely raise his voice above a whisper, eyes still locked on the morbid scene before him.

Damon released his grip on the corpse’s collar, dropping it to the floor with a sickening, crackling thud. “You want to get him out of here, Ramsay? There’s enough mess in here without your pillow pet spewing on top of it.”

Snickers rippled across the room.

“Don’t worry about him.” Ramsay cupped Theon’s face with hands that smelled like metal and disinfectant. “He just needs to have his juice and go back to bed. Yes?”

Theon blinked, barely comprehending. “Is… is this a dream?”

More laughter. Even Ramsay’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You are too cute. Come along now.”

Theon resisted. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think of allowing Ramsay to lead him anywhere. He’d known that Ramsay was… well, _loan shark_ wasn’t the most delicate term, but the funds and gifts he liberally gave out definitely didn’t go for free. The Boltons may have had an icy reputation, but _killing_ people? In their own basement, no less?

Ramsay’s expression soured. “Don’t be difficult. Do as I say and come upstairs with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

A new hush fell over the room. Impossibly, the temperature seemed to drop. Ramsay moved forward like a predator, movements slow and measured and heavy with intent.

“Is that so. Are you done with me, Theon? After all we’ve been through? After everything I’ve done for you?” Ramsay’s eyes were pure winter ice. “You think you can use me up and throw me out like the rest of your whores?”

“That- no!” Theon looked at him, almost jarred from his horror by sheer disbelief. “You’ve just _killed_ somebody!”

“No one you know.” Ramsay said with an apathetic shrug. “But hey. If that’s all it takes, I suppose your love isn’t worth much of anything at all.”

He snapped his fingers and beckoned Damon over.

“Well, have at it then.”

Damon raised his brow, looking at Theon with some hesitation as he wiped his knuckles on his sweater.

“Boss?”

“I’ve seen how you lot look at him. And you all heard - he doesn’t want to be mine anymore. So go ahead.”

Silence.

“Rams… are you su-“

“Did I stutter?” Ramsay asked sharply.

Another painful pause. Then there were hands on Theon’s body, and the panic sprung forth anew.

“Wait! What are you- get off - !”

He was pinned roughly to the cold, concrete floor, hand groping and pulling at his clothes. He could feel blood seeping into his socks, reminding him of the corpse lying not five feet away.

“Stop! Please, please stop!”

“Just for that, I want you to make it hurt.” Ramsay said, perching atop a nearby stool to watch.

Theon yelped at the feeling of someone spitting on his exposed hole, fingers digging into his cheeks to keep him spread.

“Go on. I probably loosened him up for you this morning,” Ramsay said cruelly. “Should have heard him begging for it.”

Theon could see his tears staining the floor. A strangled whine escaped at the feeling of a fat cock head ruthlessly burying itself inside him. Even with what he and Ramsay had done earlier that day, the penetration still stung. Damon was shorter but thicker than Ramsay, stretching Theon’s body in new and unfamiliar ways.

“How is he?” Ramsay asked, and for a moment Theon didn’t know who he was asking. “Just like you always imagined?”

Damon gave an experimental thrust of his hips, forcing a pained whimper from Theon’s throat.

“It… he’s good,” Damon said, hesitance and lust both apparent in his voice. “I can see why you kept him.”

“Can’t say I feel the same,” Ramsay said darkly. “Unfaithful whore.”

Theon ground his cheek against the floor and struggled to keep the bile from working its way up. His whole body trembled with disgust - revolted by the body in the room, the hands holding him down, and the cock slowly fucking into him. He openly sobbed at the feeling of Damon bottoming out, weepy eyes drifting up to seek Ramsay’s own.

The man cut a fearsome silhouette against the light. A shadowed figure looking down impassively on Theon’s degradation.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Why?” Ramsay repeated, smoothly dismounting his seat to kneel down on the floor. “Because you’re either mine or you’re nothing. What’s it going to be?”

Theon nearly choked around the lump in his throat. What else was he supposed to do?

“Y-yours,” he rasped. “I’m yours.”

“For how long?”

The tears flowed freely across his cheeks, pooling and dripping from his chin.

“Forever. A-always.”

Ramsay smiled before gently pressing his lips to Theon’s forehead.

“Good boy.”

He looked up at Damon, expression cold once more. “That’s enough.”

His voice left no room for argument. Damon cursed and pulled free, leaving Theon limp and empty on the floor. The sound of muffled snickers and Damon irritably finishing himself off were distant to Theon’s ears.

He let himself be gathered in Ramsay’s arms and led upstairs in a daze, through the kitchenette and back to the bedroom. Ramsay pushed a juicebox into his hands along with a nondescript white pill before sitting him tenderly on the end of the bed.

“I need you to go back to sleep now, alright? We’ll talk all this out in the morning.”

Theon put the pill into his mouth with shaking hands, every movement watched by Ramsay’s all-seeing gaze. It tasted like chalk, bitter on his tongue in a way that not even the apple juice could fully wash out.

_Just a dream. It’s not real._

Theon was pressed back into the bed by a firm hand on his chest. He didn’t even remember hitting the pillow.

* * *

It was known that Ramsay Snow was a man who liked to play games.

Rigged games, mind games, bets and wagers... a few of them more one-sided than others. Sometimes he himself didn’t seem to play at all, but rather would simply set the board and watch to see what others would do.

Once they got together, Theon became a regular fixture at his side. He hung onto Ramsay’s arm at parties and in pool halls, watching as the other man goaded and enabled whatever unwitting victim he’d chosen. One of Ramsay’s favorite plays was to hook people in - Theon was convinced he hoarded money and drugs just to throw at people and watch as they buried themselves.

Some free pills here, a small loan loan there, or an extra wad of cash in the hands of an escort before sending her to a recently engaged acquaintance. Be it with narcotics, gambling, or girls… he liked to find a vice and feed it, then sit back and watch as some poor soul cracked under the weight of their own hunger.

Theon used to think he’d been lucky, to have somehow slipped the radar or been exempt from that one.

 _“You’re so desperate to be_ **_loved,_ ** _aren’t you?”_

… It could be worse.

After a while people stopped seeing Theon at all. Ramsay was the one they looked in the face, the one they talked to. Theon was as good as the help; a non-entity, a piece of set dressing. Oftentimes he didn’t even sit, but instead hovered in the orbit of Ramsay’s chair.

Ramsay would pull him around with a strong hand on his hip, fingers occasionally teasing his waistband or slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. Little idle, unconscious movements that made Theon feel acknowledged in an otherwise disregarding room. Sometimes less familiar folks gave him curious looks, but most knew better than to look for too long. If anyone noticed the bruises peeking from Theon’s collar or the hint of rope burns beneath his sleeves, they didn’t say.

They wouldn’t dare.

* * *

Theon woke up with a head full of cotton, the light of day burning through the curtains and across his eyelids.

Ramsay’s body was half-draped across his own, breathing evenly into the nape of Theon’s neck. Somewhere outside, birds were singing. Had it all really been a dream? Theon’s memories were certainly muddied and surreal.

He shifted between the sheets, carefully extricating himself from Ramsay’s hold. Then his eyes fell upon the crumpled juice box on the bedside table. His stomach dropped. Gods, he was so stupid.

Theon slipped from the bedroom in his sweats and socks, wincing at the pain in his arse as he pattered down the stairs. He quickly pulled on his shoes and began to search the usual places for the car keys. They weren’t on the door-side hook, or in the bowl with their spare coinage, or on the breakfast bar. Theon was starting to desperately rummage through coat pockets when a faint jingling caught his attention.

“Looking for something?”

Ramsay was leaning against the banister, still shirtless with hair mussed from sleep, the keys dangling from his finger. He looked Theon over before sighing heavily.

“You disappoint me, pet. You really do.”

“Ramsay, I was just-“

“Going somewhere?” His eyes sharpened. “ _Leaving_ me?”

“N-no! I-“

Ramsay silenced him with a raised finger. “You know I hate it when you lie.”

He toyed with the keys, tossing and jangling them in his hand.

“I think it’s time we had that talk.”

* * *

Theon would look back and remember that _he_ was the one who started pushing the boundaries. He was the one who let their laundry mix together, then pulled on Ramsay’s sweaters and jeans and watched for a reaction. He was the one who would let himself fall asleep in Ramsay’s bed instead of slipping back to his own, just to see what would happen.

He hadn’t really had a plan or goal in mind. Theon had ever been interested in relationships, but he still found himself wanting something that he couldn’t put a name to. The attention, the validation, or the security. Ramsay always seemed so sure and in control, so effortless and untouchable in the ways Theon had always tried to project.

“I should have seen this coming. I know from the start that you were troubled. And that you have… commitment issues,” Ramsay was saying, snapping a pair of latex gloves onto his hands. “But we’ll work it out. After all this is done, we’ll be closer than ever.”

Theon tugged weakly at the leather cuffs keeping him strapped to the heavy wooden cross. The cellar had been hosed down since last night, but the stench of death and bodily fluids remained. He didn’t ask what had become of the body.

“Partners need to be sure their values align before moving to the next level. You and I need to come to an understanding so that we can move forward, and forget past conflicts. _Reconcile_ our values.” Ramsay picked up a long, serrated blade and Theon nearly fainted at the sight of it. “For instance, the value of me not going to prison. I don’t want to kill you-”

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise, I won’t!“

Ramsay gave him a faintly irritated look, like he was a hair shy of rolling his eyes. “Don’t interrupt me. As I was _saying_ , who is going to love you if I go to prison, Theon?”

Theon barely managed to choke his sobs down and Ramsay stepped in close, their chests just brushing together.

“And if I kill you,” Ramsay said softly. “Who is going to love me?”

When the blade finally pierced Theon’s skin, Ramsay cooed and kissed him through the screams. Theon felt his own skin hit the cellar floor, heard the sound of his fingernails clatter into the metal surgical tray. He learned that begging only made it worse. Time became a blur of sheer pain and whispered declarations of love and beauty ( _“Just like that sweetling, you’re perfect, I knew you would be-”_ ).

He watched through the haze of his tears as Ramsay traded flaying knives for scalpels, scalpels for pliers. The physical pain helped to mask the heartbreak. 

When Ramsay was done for the day he pulled away and began to gather up his sullied blades. Then he sidled back to the saltire and tapped his cheek expectantly. Theon could vividly see himself spitting blood into the other man’s face, watching that pale skin spatter with red. Instead he swallowed the iron down, whole body trembling, and kissed his boyfriend goodnight.

When Ramsay left he turned the lights off behind him, plunging Theon into darkness. Alone in the cold embrace of the cellar, a familiar voice cycled around in Theon’s head like a broken record.

_You have nowhere to go. There’s no one who can protect you. Just give in, and we can go back to the way things were._

* * *

In the end Ramsay took two fingers, one toe, and several strips of skin from various places across Theon’s body. He gave a shiny GPS chip, plunged deep into the meat of Theon’s outer thigh, and a heavy house arrest anklet on the other leg. 

He would lose another toe two weeks later, trying to get help from the staff of the main house. A few weeks after that he would try stealing a horse from the stable, only to wind up with a hot brand seared into the sole of his left foot.

Now he no longer thought of leaving the carriage house. He scrubbed the floors and minded the dogs, wiped the windows and dusted the countertops. The busywork kept him somewhat sane in the long daytime hours. Sometimes he would sit at the bedroom window and look out at the rest of the Bolton estate, at the various staff who fluttered in and out of the main building. Sometimes they saw him sitting there, only to quickly avert their gaze and carry on with their business.

 _Keep Ramsay happy, don’t make him mad._ The words were a constant mantra as he cleaned the house and cooked the meals, and when he kissed Ramsay at the threshold for every morning departure and evening return.

On the nights where Ramsay brought a new victim home, Theon was now expected to be present. He was given a special corner chair to sit in and watch as Ramsay worked his blades across the flesh of various strangers. Sometimes Theon was even made to hold the surgical trays, offering Ramsay a steady rotation of knives and other awful tools.

“Why?” Theon found himself asking once again, his voice small and eyes kept low, ears ringing from the screams.

“Because he owes my father money and can’t pay it back,” Ramsay said easily. “We have to send a message, sweetheart. Otherwise anyone will take advantage of our kindness.”

“No, I mean… Why am I here, sir? What’s the point?”

Ramsay had already turned his back on him, dipping his crimson pliers in alcohol before diving back in for more teeth. He hummed thoughtfully as he forced the man’s bleeding mouth open.

“I always thought about getting a house pet.”

Theon felt something inside him crumple. His grip on the tray wavered, sending several scalpels skittering to the floor. Ramsay gave him a sidelong look.

“Now look what you’ve done. Can’t even hold a tray upright now? Or are you sabotaging my work on purpose? Trying to embarrass me in front of our guest?”

“No! No, I wouldn’t!“

Theon scrambled on hands and knees to gather the scattered blades, frantic and heedless of the sharp edges.

“Idiot.” Ramsay slapped Theon’s bleeding hands away and gave him a hard kick in the direction of the exit. “Out. I’ll deal with you later.”

Theon stumbled towards the door. Though Ramsay made a show of being disappointed, he could tell the man was delighted at the prospect of another punishment. Theon trembled, eyes welling up with futile tears.

He left without another word, knowing anything else was pointless.

* * *

Theon didn’t have to wait long.

His pulse quickened at the sound of Ramsay climbing the stairs to the bedroom. He clasped his ruined hands in his lap and tried to calm his breathing. Even after all these weeks, the gaps where his fingers once were continued to ache terribly.

Ramsay stood in the doorway, surveying him coolly.

“I’ve noticed a troubling attitude from you of late,” he said, loosening his tie. “You seem… listless. Am I boring you?”

“Of course not. Never.”

“Hm.” The sound of a belt slithering free was blood chilling. “I think you remember how this goes, yes?”

Theon grimaced. Back in the early days of their relationship, he’d been made aware of a few of Ramsay’s kinks. It had started tame enough - his wrists tied to the headboard with a necktie, clothespins clamped on the delicate nubs of his nipples. Nothing comfortable, but nothing crazy either. Theon had seen his share of porn.

The pain had never revved his engine, but the bright look in Ramsay’s eyes and the hungry grappling of his hands sure had.

The belt, though. He had nearly called time-out on the belt. Now he wondered if Ramsay might have even stopped if he had. Would he have kept going? Would they have fought after? Would Theon have packed up and left long before any of this ever happened?

No point thinking about it now, he supposed.

Theon miserably rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into the bedding, sniffling as he lowered the waistband of his tattered sweatpants.

The first crack of the belt on his skin was like a hot brand. It felt rather ridiculous, after everything, to be subjected to a punishment so comparatively mundane. _Housewives_ got the belt, as Ramsay had been so keen on reminding him. Accusations of being wanton and wicked had flowed freely from his lips as the searing leather fell again and again.

“It’s my fault for letting you get complacent, is it?” Ramsay asked, expertly slinging the belt in a neat stripe across both mounds of Theon’s seat. “Or have I not been paying you enough attention?”

The following clap of the belt on his upper thighs had Theon clawing at the sheets. He couldn’t have responded if he tried. Besides, he knew one of Ramsay’s rhetorical monologues when he heard one.

“I know we’ve had a hard time of it lately,” Ramsay continued, cruelly strapping the meatiest part of Theon’s cheeks. “Trust takes time to rebuild. For _both_ of us.”

Theon wept helplessly into the blankets. His skin felt hot enough to blister and he couldn’t imagine that Ramsay hadn’t already broken skin. With each fresh strike, he kept expecting to feel a warm trickle of blood from one of the swelling welts.

“But no one said relationships would be easy, hm?” Another strike to where Theon’s arse met his thighs. “I won’t give up on us.” 

Ramsay’s hand groped and squeezed at the bruised mess he’d made, heedless of the whimpering and squirming it elicited. He was breathing heavily, winded from the exertion of beating Theon so thoroughly.

“And I know _you_ won’t give up on us either.” He slapped Theon’s thigh. “Get up and stand in the corner.”

Theon took a moment to process the command. Usually this was the part where Ramsay parted his legs and got the lube. What was this?

Another spank, harder than the last.

“Are you still not paying attention?”

At that, Theon clambered to his feet.

“No!” He nearly tripped in his haste to get into the corner. “No sir.”

He dejectedly pressed his forehead into the corner, painfully aware that his bruised arse was in full view. He waited, listening to footsteps departing down the stairs.

Ramsay seemed to have gone into the kitchen and was rummaging now through the freezer. Theon couldn’t imagine what he’d be digging for. Ice maybe?

Finally the footsteps returned.

“You may look at me.”

Theon warily drew his eyes away from the wall. Ramsay was standing beside him, holding what looked like a large anal plug, but carved from a white material that almost resembled wood.

“Have you ever heard of figging, pet?”

“Uh-“

“It’s a punishment that was sometimes used on errant schoolboys in… less civilized times,” Ramsay said mildly. “Nowadays it’s used in kink play. The ginger causes a slow heating, tingling sensation that builds the longer it’s left inside. Leaving it in the freezer is said to make the experience more intense.”

Theon’s eyes went wide.

“Some find it rather severe, others don’t feel much,” Ramsay continued, turning it over in his hand. Their eyes met. “This is not ginger.”

Oh. Wait, what?

“This is horseradish root. It’s worse.” Ramsay ran a hand down Theon’s side, stopping just at the curve of his ass. “It was never used for scolding children you see, but as a capital punishment. In ancient times adulterers and other promiscuous harlots would be sentenced to public sodomization with it for their crime. I’m rather curious as to how such a little thing could be as bad as all that… so you’ll have to let me know.”

Theon gasped and wriggled as Ramsay worked the frigid thing up his hole. His hands scrabbled against the wall as he tried to adjust to the intrusion.

“You either keep your hands on the wall or on your head, but you stay in that corner and think about what you’ve done.” Ramsay grabbed him by the face. “Understood?”

Theon trembled, the plug hard and cold inside him. “Y-yes sir.”

Even before his body finished warming the thing, he began to feel it. He pressed his forehead to the wall and tried to level his breathing but it didn’t help - the burn was increasing at a rapid rate. He squirmed in a futile effort to escape the discomfort that was quickly evolving into outright pain.

“It’s faster acting than I expected,” Ramsay said, sounding bored from where he was reclined on the bed. He was on his phone - Theon could hear synthetic tapping of the keyboard. “That’s interesting.”

Seconds passed and Theon’s heartbeat began to escalate, a sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Every moment he hoped that the burn had reached its peak but it just _kept building._ It was hard to describe the feeling; like some unholy crossroads between fire and acid inflaming his sensitive insides. The brand of agony fluctuated between ‘reamed with a lit candle’ and ‘fucked a scorpion’. Tears were falling freely from his eyes and Theon didn’t even care. He couldn’t think about anything else, his world narrowing down to the seventh hell searing his arse from the inside out.

“Sir,” he choked, struggling to remain still. His nails were scrabbling against the wall. “Mast-“

“Either collect yourself or keep your hands on your head only,” Ramsay said blandly.

Theon whined, an inhuman noise as he fisted his hands in his hair. Gods, it had to pass soon. How long had it even been? Five minutes or an hour? His muscles spasmed, instinctively clenching around the intrusion, and the sudden wave of fire unleashed nearly whited out his vision. He bit his tongue to stop from outright screaming but a strangled sound still escaped. He tasted iron and coughed, pink spittle flecking the wall.

“What have I told you about hurting yourself?” Ramsay asked sharply, pulling to his feet. “You want me to get the metal cuffs?”

Theon could only whimper in response. No matter how we wriggled or flexed the burn inside him persisted, so strong that he genuinely feared that his inner walls were being melted away.

“Oh come on. It’s not even been that long, how bad could it be?”

There was a delighted fascination beneath Ramsay’s words even as he pinched Theon’s jaw open to inspect for damage. His hand slid between Theon’s shaking thighs, grabbing hold of the evil instrument’s base. Any spark of hope did not last long.

“You don’t like that?” Ramsay asked, gently fucking what felt like solid acid in and out of him. “Have you learned your lesson then?”

Theon mindlessly nodded, his face wet with tears and snot. A shrill wail was building in his throat with each searing thrust.

“Alright, baby. I believe you.” Ramsay finally pulled the plug free with a single forceful motion.

Theon collapsed right to his knees. His body felt open and sore, burning flesh reacting strangely to the rush of cool air. The relief he hoped for did not come. Though the pain was lessened, it still continued.

“Oh, yes. I heard it can last up to forty minutes after extraction.” Ramsay ruffled his hair. “That was exciting!”

Theon groaned from his place on the floor. His knees felt as weak as a newborn foal’s.

“Now,” Ramsay said, unzipping his jeans. “How about you give me a proper apology.”

Familiar territory, at least.

Theon messily wiped his face on his sleeve before reaching for the front of Ramsay’s pants, pulling the waistband aside and freeing the erection within. Fully hard, flushed and dripping at the tip; whether it was from their recent activities or his torture of the man downstairs, it was hard to say.

Theon took the head into his mouth, lips hugging Ramsay’s girth and tongue lapping at the slit. Ramsay hissed appreciatively before grasping Theon by the hair and impatiently sliding further down his throat.

Theon felt his gag reflex twitch and tense in response, but blessedly managed to get himself under control just as quickly. He let Ramsay fuck his mouth at leisure, tongue caressing the hard length in time with each thrust. Ramsay was merciless when it came to letting Theon come up for air; once his head started spinning Theon could only paw and scratch at Ramsay’s thighs in silent plea.

Finally Ramsay pulled out, hand still knotted in Theon’s hair. He stroked himself once, twice before spilling warm seed across Theon’s cheek and down the curve of his neck.

Ramsay leaned against the wall, breathing heavy. After a moment he began to curiously probe at Theon’s groin with the toe of his shoe, only to find the other man flaccid. It wasn’t unusual. The last few times Ramsay had taken him, Theon hadn’t been able to get hard. His orgasms had grown rare, unsatisfying and forced from Ramsay’s own stubborn hands.

“I’m sorry,” Theon said, desperately trying not to hyperventilate. “I want to, I- it still hurts-“

“Of course,” Ramsay straightened, pale eyes roaming over the mess glistening on his captive’s skin. “Well, you are being punished after all. It’s fine. I have to go back to work anyway.”

He wiped a tear from the corner of Theon’s eye before turning heel for the door once more. He paused at the threshold.

“Just know that I’ll be _very_ disappointed if you’re not able to get hard when I come back.”

With that, he was gone. Theon remained on the floor, arse throbbing and hole burning, painfully aware that he had not been given permission to clean himself off.

* * *

Perhaps the worst of it was when the Boys came around.

Theon had never liked Ramsay’s friends, even before. He had tried to join in on their crass conversations and playful ribbing, but ultimately it felt too similar to trying to get along with his brothers: as if no matter what he did or how, he was being looked down on. The laughter and looks shared between the men always felt wholly at Theon’s expense.

Now he just tried to keep their drinks filled and plates full, and otherwise stayed out of the way. He ignored how their eyes followed him when he limped through the room. When he was lucky, Ramsay got too drunk to do much more than fall asleep after the Boys were gone.

Theon wasn’t often lucky.

He frantically scrubbed at the stack of plates before him, desperate to finish the task as soon as possible without missing a single spot. He knew Ramsay would be inspecting the work later. He fidgeted uncomfortably from his place at the sink and restrained himself from pulling at the hem of his dress. He could feel the damn thing riding up his thigh for the hundredth time that night.

“You’re looking awfully lonely over there,” Ramsay called over the hum of the television. “Did you want to join us, pet?”

Theon froze in his work. Slowly he looked up, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“N-no sir. I was just- I’ll finish and get out of your way.”

“I don’t remember dismissing you.” Ramsay uncrossed his legs, leaving them widespread. As if the lounge chair was a throne. “Come here.”

Theon reluctantly turned off the faucet before making his way unsteadily through the sitting room. He could feel the eyes following him as he went.

“There you are. It’s been a while since we all spent time together like this, hasn’t it?” Ramsay said, grabbing Theon firmly by the wrists. “You’ve become so shy.”

The smell of alcohol was heavy on Ramsay’s breath, sending new waves of uncertainty through Theon’s veins. Back when they were dating - really, properly dating - he and Ramsay would drink or smoke together. Somehow Ramsay would always be the more sober of the two, while Theon was the one who would come undone. At the time he’d thought Ramsay was just a heavyweight. Now he knew it must have been by design.

Ramsay hummed as he slid the hem of Theon’s dress further up his thighs.

“I always loved your legs,” he said, openly fondling him. “You like showing them off?”

“… Whatever makes you happy, sir.”

“I’m sure the Boys appreciate it. Don’t you?” He directed the question at the room, and Theon was struck with the realization that the others were starting to look almost as nervous as he was.

“Sure, boss.” Skinner wasn’t even looking at him, eyes trained on the corner.

“Well that’s not very enthusiastic. What’s wrong?” Ramsay pulled down the v-neckline to expose Theon’s chest. “You were all so eager before. Does no one want a turn?” 

The Boys all exchanged wary glances.

“Ramsay-“

“And _you,_ ” Ramsay’s hold tightened on Theon’s hips. “You’ve been a bit of a tramp, haven’t you? You’ve seen how they look at you, and you’ve been teasing them on purpose.”

“No! Of course not!”

“My cock doesn’t get you wet anymore, is that it? Did you prefer Damon’s meat in you?” Ramsay hissed, tipping Theon over his knee. “Bet you were disappointed when he pulled out. Should I have let him finish? Let all my boys have a go?”

Ramsay growled in his ear, and suddenly Theon understood. Ramsay was like a child showing off his favorite toy in the schoolyard. He wanted all the other kids to acknowledge his prize, only to get anxious and possessive if one of them held it for too long. Now he thought he had reason to feel slighted.

His hands were rough as they bared Theon’s bruised arse and thighs. “Well come on, then. No one wants to go first?”

The Boys were actively leaning away now, eyes flitting between Theon’s exposure and their leader’s wild gaze. Theon’s cheek was pressed into the upholstery, inhaling the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes. His heartbeat hammered frantically in his chest.

“I only want you,” he said desperately, already instinctively trying to shrink into the cushions. “Master-“

The hard slap to his already bruised sit spot had him choking on his words.

“ _Slut._ When I want to hear from you, I’ll ask.” The fever of humiliation burned Theon’s face as Ramsay brought his hand down again. “As if you’ve ever said anything worth hearing.”

Theon groaned and writhed on Ramsay’s lap, mortified tears welling in his eyes.

“You unfaithful, fickle little whore,” Ramsay was muttering almost to himself, his hand causing more pain than it had any right to as it rained down on the pre-existing bruises and welts. “I’ve been more than patient with you. No? Have I not been generous?”

“You have! You have, I’m sorry, I just-“

“You just _what!?”_

Theon didn’t actually know what to say. This was all new territory - he had never seen Ramsay drunk, never seen him undone in this way. Yes, Ramsay had his angry tantrums and violent outbursts, but never any that carried such… vulnerable implications.

He had always been a man so discerning when it came to the vices and hungers of others. Of course he himself was only human, and had to have more than a few of his own. It didn’t take a genius to guess that Ramsay had a complex about status, and that any blow to his pride could well have lethal consequences.

Theon took a breath. “I just needed to adjust. It’s been a. A big change.”

He grimaced and waited for the next hit. It didn’t come.

“I’ve been very overwhelmed,” Theon continued. “But it’s still us, right? You’re still… you’re still my boyfriend?”

Clumsy words of appeasement would almost definitely not work on a sober Ramsay, but as it was, Theon could feel a thumb drawing idle circles on his bruises. Emboldened, he wriggled upright so that he was straddling Ramsay’s lap. Without turning he waved the Boys toward the door - the men quickly took the hint and didn’t waste time slinking to the exit.

“I’m yours,” Theon insisted, breathing in the beer and liquor on Ramsay’s breath. “Forever and always. I want no one else.”

Ramsay scoffed, even as his hips rose to grind against Theon’s own.

“You’re a lying harlot. You’ll try to leave me again. First chance you get.” He grasped Theon by the neck and pulled him close, hot breath fanning over his ear. “And when you do, I’m finally going to cut off that useless cock of yours and keep it in a jar on my shelf.”

Theon swallowed dryly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He reached into Ramsay’s trousers and fished out his cock, rubbing it to get the blood flowing. Theon might have lost the game the moment he was hooked in by Ramsay’s promises and charm… but if victory was off the table, he could at least settle for mutual destruction.

**Author's Note:**

> I did it all for you Stormy.  
> Special thanks to Ahziel for lending her skills in espionage, and to Totel for the art that inspired this scenario.  
> Also, fun bit of trivia: the figging scene is a deleted scene from XOXO that I repurposed here. Recycling!
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone. In the new year we should continue with our regularly scheduled updates of Blood Sport and Tooth and Claw, probably in alternation. Thank you for your patience!


End file.
